The old man kept his voice level and even, despite the edge to it that seemed to threaten everyone around him. It was part business, part grief. More than a little of it had to have been anger, and a primal want for fatherly revenge. Perhaps it was understandable. He shouldn't be taking a meeting right now, he knew. Caesar was emotionally compromised. He held it in admirably, but it was only a matter of time before a more aggressive catharsis was necessary. In the meantime, he had to try not to come off as a complete psychopath. Good luck to him.
"About ethics, Ms. Queensguard... I have always completed the job I signed on for. Unless something I needed to know has been withheld. To be honest, most of the jobs I have taken involved the relocation or elimination of very, very bad men. Recovering people, recovering things. Most of that was for the United States Government. It's common knowledge, anyone who looks even a little bit. Alicia..." Caesar's voice broke a little bit as he said the name aloud, "She must have told you as much, without saying specifics. I have done work for every American three-letter agency that wanted jobs done wet and quiet. Or not so quiet. I've also been brought in to protect targets, places and people, from others like me. Before I founded this company. MSS is an extended family, built on trust. As much of it as you can get working from the shadows. If we are the kind of people you want protecting your interests, I am still willing to go ahead."
"Because I trust my daughter's judgement, the agreement will be honored. Give me two days to go over these documents and make some calls. In the meantime, MSS will maintain a secure physical front. Mr. Keystone will see to that. Keep anything important off of accessible servers until I can bring in an updated Tech team. I'm just not qualified.
Caesar's face took on a slightly darker note as his mind curled around the Secretary of Defense. She was the last person that the older man saw his daughter with, alive anyway. She had something to do with all of this, whether for good or ill was up in the air. Suffice it to say, he was anxious to have a discussion with the woman, someplace quiet and isolated. "And por favor, thank Secretary McCormick for me, and let her know that I would like to speak with her just as soon as her schedule clears."
Caesar looked to his junior associate with an expectant face, raising his eyebrows and hoping that the man had something important-sounding to say. So far, he'd just been sitting like a stone monolith in his chair, barely even nodding in agreement. At least he looked as he should for this kind of assignment: Intimidating and observant.
The massive, statuesque man sat in his chair, wondering when the concept of "day-to-day activities" was to be mentioned. But neither of the people speaking had any intention of discussing the mundane tasks of securing the complex. Admittedly, the things they were speaking about sounded frighteningly important, but when it came down to it, the large brawler felt just a bit like an intruder whenever he considered adding to the dialogue.
Almost as a blessing, paperwork arrived. Something he could look busy going over. So, he did. His attention remained on his surroundings and the discussion at hand, but his eyes skimmed over the contract, looking for keywords that would indicate the gross idea of the nature of the text. While giving further scrutiny to a paragraph on the opening page of the document, he could sense eyes boring into him, as if screaming at the man to say something.
Keystone lifted his head and allowed his steel-grey eyes to move from Mrs. Queensguard to his employer, Caesar, trying hastily to recall the exact words of the previous few seconds. A tense second before a lightbulb moment had him intoning, "Right. Bloody capital, that. Toss my shilling into it, I'm thinkin' we needs to give priority action to the site, m'self. Jump above budget on our end, flip out some bodies for folk what ain't locals, y'see? I know a couple o' blokes 'cross the pond I can trust, wouldn't scoff at a change of scenery. And we got those 'oldings up in Seattle. They got good, broke-in lads you trained personal, right Boss? Bring in known men and equipment, till this emergency's done and done. Lady Queensguard 'ere wants us international? Let's show 'er what we're capable of when we're at capacity."
"Archaeologist, you say?" began Reginald, raising an eyebrow yet again at the American stranger, "A multitude of persons, coming in many shapes and varying degrees of reputability have flocked to Cairo over the past couple of years claiming to be archaeologists, what with that Tut business."
"It is to be expected, of course. One pulls a gold-plated coffin from the sands of what was essentially a stop along a trade route to the African Colonies, people bloody notice. Didn't matter if you penned your credentials at the local library, if one had paperwork and financing, they were given opportunity to poke around things of nationally historical significance." The Lord Major sighed. "They likely could have gotten similar access with less running about if they claimed membership in the Fourth Estate, you see, rather than dragging down a scholarly endeavor."
The Lord Major shook his head. If there was any good that came of the constant expeditions to Egypt, it was that it led to Vera's presence, and so close to his barracks. It was very good having a friend, particularly one from the motherland, so close by. The fact that her superior education was invaluable on occasions was mere gravy on top of their relationship, as he suspected she felt about his own position of influence. Still, they could perform valuable tasks for each other, friendship aside. Such as her appraisal of his drawing of the Eye from his recurring dream.
He listened to Vera's opinion, responding, "Bastet? I'm not versed on the subject, but isn't that the cat lady? I..." Reginald stopped short at her next question. "Why, um... Yes, my Lady. Kept burning after I woke from my nap, some half hour ago. There was some drama with a camel spider that demanded my attention, but the discomfort was still present. I took it for the anatomical indulgences of my advancing age."
The Lord Major was lost in troubling thought, pondering the implications of whatever Egyptian curse that he really didn't believe in to begin with becoming manifest. Most troubling to him, most of the people that he had heard about dying from a "curse" usually went out in a manner of mysterious circumstances or something truly mundane, not in a way that made people take notice and say, "Wow, now THAT was a masculine way to go." Contemplating the repercussions of such a fate, he did not realize Vera's predicament until she gave out yet another scream for the evening.
Reginald ran over and slapped both of his hands upon the ladder. Looking over his shoulder, he called out to Mr. Drake, "Come along then, archaeologist, and help me lower Lady Munn! Respectfully, mind you."
Location: Parking Lot between Building 6 (Armory) and Building E (Apartments)
The barrel of Ash's gun remained trained on Ryan's face. His training with the Army generally had him aiming for the center mass, especially at this distance. A .45 round, even against ballistic armor designed to withstand a hand cannon such as that, would knock a man flat on his ass. Without the armor, the same man stuck in the torso with the same bullet would fare significantly worse. The last three years had altered his habits somewhat. Dead or alive, if it was standing, crawling, or snarling, Ash's optimal bullet placement was between the eyes. Or sockets, as the case may be.
The guy had some nerve, Ash had to hand it to him. Resourceful, too. Of course, depending upon how resourceful he was, the man left to guard him was dead or dying, quite possibly. It was reason enough to end the man where he stood, even as he plead his case. In his mind's eye, the trigger was already pulled, and this guy, Ryan, was blinking uncontrollably as the last few raw synapses in his brain fired impotently.
Instead, he allowed the utterly busted man to finish his monologue, cocked his head ever so slightly to the side, and brought his radio up with his free hand. "I need a security detail just south of the Armory. Armed escort required for one. You have less than a minute."
Clipping the walkie back onto his belt, Ash addressed the former Edenite with weary, indifferent authority, as a man truly annoyed at having to explain what should be obvious. "You are in no position to make demands. You're alive now because Zoie wanted you that way. You were locked up, also because Zoie wanted you that way. I'm going along with it because I'm curious, and because you may have value to us. If Hell freezes over and trust is established, we'll readdress. But if you move further, in any way, I will shoot you dead. Look at me. Tell me if I'm lying."
Bridgette Vinters
Location: Gravesite, within Outer Wall -> Parking Lot between Building 6 (Armory) and Building E (Apartments)
Bridgette saw to the girl's corpse as respectfully as she dared, considering the threat of gunfire and, apparently, getting one's corpse removed surreptitiously while their collective attention was focused elsewhere. To put it bluntly, the tall woman did not kick the girl's body into a convenient spot, but nor did she leave arranged flowers. The happy middle ground had the tarp-wrapped package of former Newnanite places parallel to the hole originally dug for Lily, but far enough away so that another could be comfortably dug for her.
Then the reports came in. That radio was a cruel, impersonal messenger sometimes. Having one resting on her hip did nothing for easing her mind. Informative, yes. All in all though, it made her want to grab the few people she really cared for and haul them back to her house, surrounded by its own fence, with an independent water source, and fortify the hell out of it. Of course, the next logical thought in this train of self-preservation was that, were it not for this town and these people, Astrid and Bryn and herself wouldn't have that comfortable little home, that rough wooden wall surrounding, the old fashioned, stone rimmed well, nor a permanent place to keep and tend to Edgar and Cadence. Yeah, she owed them. And she was part of this community too, damnit.
When Ash's voice was heard again over the walkie, Bridgette was already mounting her charger. Armed escort for one? Sounded a little strange, especially that far inside the gate. She had to find out more. The fact that she wasn't part of the security team was a triviality. "Fuck yeah! I've got you, Ash. Somebody need some tough love, boss?"
Captain Ash could likely hear the hoofbeats of the approaching Valkyrie, long before the sun glinting from her spearhead or the growling of obscenities. The benefit of a horse in these times - one could travel ground in a surprising amount of time. "This the assbag?" she asked, motioning with her sawed-off. "You want I should run him through, or back to the cell?"
The Great Bazhooli
Location: Building 2 (Mess Hall)
Both Jack and Tatiana were curious as to the identity of the little orange superhero. Seeing as the cat could not speak for himself, at least not in a manner understandable by the human population, The Great Bazhooli took it upon himself to speak for his diminutive, feline companion.
"I have been calling kitty-cat "Schrodinger". He has been vith me for long time now, only friend since... vell, since train. I think he vas hallucination at first - vould just appear from nowhere, disappear for long time. Did not know if alive or not, so... Schrodinger. He seems to like."
The Great Bazhooli's face darkened for a moment, thinking about the first span of time after he was forced to leave his train, taking that handcart down the tracks. He had never really been by himself for a long period of time. As he had mentioned earlier that day, he didn't handle Alone very well. The problems that this community faced, at least those that he could see from the brief time he had spent inside its walls, were the very same problems his troupe faced when all of this started. They could not adapt fast enough to maintain a force capable of defending themselves and keeping everyone fed. The result being their almost total destruction.
This place had a similar problem. There just weren't enough people, not when a hostile force was nearby. The Great Bazhooli didn't want to see (more or less) decent folk go out the same way his people did. He smiled a great, near cheshire grin underneath his prodigious moustache, as he returned his thoughts to the full present. "Is good kitty! Very good kitty, as cats go. Schrodinger belongs to Schrodinger." He switched up his tone to something more optimistic, and turned to Sally, the nearest person to an authority figure, so long as you didn't count the men with guns near the doors. "I vant to help, Miz. Sally - vith..." He motioned around himself, trying like hell to indicate more than just the building they were in. "...this. How do I do this? Who do I speak vith?"
Location: Woods North of Salarn, Orc Encampment, Evening of Day Three
Interacting With: The Group
Others made their own preparations as Keystone started working up a large repast for the group. He grunted with mild satisfaction as Kyra, Sana, and Satilla moved to assist. A project that would have taken him at least an hour and a half to prep, even for an experienced culinarian like himself, wound up only taking twenty minutes (give or take). Meat fabrication was the weighted portion of the effort required for the meal, but it could be accomplished by anyone with hunting experience, or that was good with a kitchen knife. Skin the animals, disarticulate, and remove large muscle from bone. Smaller bits could be tied together and agitated in simmering liquid until the savory meats parted from white bone. It seemed that would be the fate of the rabbits, simmered slowly with bacon, fair wine, preserved seasonings, and the green tops of the root vegetables.
Keystone was not a hunter. Nor was he a particularly skilled forager. Nor was he trained in the ways of woodland botany, wild mushroom identification, or wilderness survival. Prior to his days on the road, the large man was quite the urbanite. It was a reason why he provisioned heavily, and generally kept to main roads if alone. Keystone's greatest ability to gather the best ingredients involved silver coin and a cosmopolitan marketplace. Still, if the right materials were offered to him, the art he could create with iron and fire was impressive in its speed and quality. As it turned out, he was given most of those materials by Sana. The rest he could find in his pack.
Come to think of it, Sana had kept that cloak with her, prepared for a chance meeting with him. The likelihood of them crossing paths seemed astronomical, considering the circumstances of their previous meeting. She had provided the benefit of her experience to the group as well, providing backup without direct investment. Cloak, backup, and now a woodland feast. If Keystone didn't know better, he'd suspect that the archer was sweet on him. Not that he'd mind the attention; but between the two of them, that would be a monumentally angry coupling. Waving the thought away, he focused on the task at hand.
"Lots you can do in short order with two or three buggers pushing the same direction, innit?" he mused aloud, pulling over a larger bit of firewood to perch upon as he set hard into the fowl and roots, action following the intent expressed earlier. Peeling off the tougher skins of the neeps and baigies was a simple task, thanks to the preternaturally keen edge of his primary knife, a heavy, bone-handled seax. While he wasn't exactly trying for perfect dices of the vegetables, he did manage a quick breakdown of the nutritious roots, resulting in even, white and off-yellow cubes of approximately the same size. They hit the iron pan, lined with diced bacon and rendered fat, with a promising sizzle.
Breaking down the fowl was a likewise simple task for Keystone. Don't ask him to stalk one, but if you needed it with crispy, caramelized skin and an interior color that displayed the barest hint of pink, he was your man. The massive pugilist set to removing the feathers of his first with practiced ability, systematically doing after the largest first and cleaning up the downy soft ones at the end, turning the bird this way and that.
By the time he set his first back down, he noticed that Sana's birds had caught the attention of a mostly naked Half-Orc who was walking his way, presumably confusing him with the women who were breaking down the rabbits and foxes. Keystone's irritation flared as he reached for one of the carcasses, prompting him to slide his workload to the other side of himself.
"Right! You get your mank danglies 'way from my bloody pheasant. Ain't in the mood for you at present, y'understand? Go find wood or somethin', y'know, else. Get me?"
It occurred to Liam that being in this room was likely one of the more surreal, unexpected experiences of his life. It was not a thing of horror, granted, but a sudden unsettling feeling that washed over him as he set foot inside (what he assumed was) the ship's Barbershop. It just seemed off. The events of the past week of his life had led him down an unerring path that traded a life of anonymous servitude and imprisonment for an unspecified amount of time on a recently unregistered Alliance vessel that didn't technically exist, sharing canned air with people whose worth was measured by their kill count and capacity for human apathy. This was a place of slate grey walls, uniformity, and sterilized routines.
But here there was hot lather and wrapped candies. It made no sense.
Harper forced himself to step inside, despite his sense of propriety screaming otherwise. He'd almost died a couple times, very recently. A coin toss could have decided his fate, prior to landing on Persephone. Surely he could face up to the challenge of entering a well-lit room open to public access that smelled of coffee and mild aftershave.
As it turned out, this little corner of the ship seemed very inviting, once the initial shock wore off. One side was like a small lounge area, complete with commercial terminals, a low table, comfortable places to recline, and most importantly: Coffee. It seemed like a setup designed for clients waiting on the absent barber. The other side had all of the trappings of an older style Gentleman's Barber Shop and Salon, even down to various tonics and elixirs designed for facial hair maintenance. Strangely, most of them had a moustache emblazoned across their labels, and some had a man's face upon them. Closer inspection revealed that it was the very man who was on the Bridge earlier, the paler Dandy.
Sighing, Harper poured himself a drink of coffee into a delicate looking ceramic cup, sat down, and decided to go with it. The level of crazy in which he had embedded himself was solid and highly unexpected. Perhaps it was best to relax and see where this series of events took him, as he was powerless to change his situation for the better.
This was a remarkably odd day.
Foy Coiffeur
Location: Lounge
Foy's initial impression of the situation was most correct. The talented Dr. Moreau had known Foy since childhood, and had been well briefed on his coolness of nerve and combat readiness, traits often in conflict with his generally foppish exterior. If Jahosafat told him to remain calm as he revealed something, it was an event worthy of notation. Oh, and it was, too. The revelation of a Reaver, seemingly near its metaphorical infancy.
Foy's own steely resolve took a startle, though he refused to let it show. Palms tightened around the relatively smallish grips of his hold-out pistols, fingers loosely around triggers in anticipation of the squeeze necessary to end a life. Luckily, it did not come to that. Firing a gun on board a ship was a risky affair; there were places where a bullet might travel that could place the entire crew at risk. A hull breach was an obvious one. Destroying an element of their electrical system or air filtration were others. All the same, the desire to dig out his larger guns leapt into his psyche, understandably so.
"Shèng Lā Shǐ..."1 breathed Foy, before he remembered his manners.
He trusted his friend, though. At least so far as to believe that the subject was properly bound and sedated at that time. A flick of his wrists retreated his large bore Derringers back into the concealing fabric of his sleeves. If nothing else, the Captain had blatantly refused to holster his own weapon. In the interests of keeping out of the path of potential gunfire (and making himself a less likely first target), Foy took a step back, completely clearing Quinn's line of sight.
The conversation they had just entered left him with a sour taste. For starters, the use of the word "Harness", in describing plans for the Reavers, was ever so slightly disturbing. But he was paid to do disturbing things. Moreso were the things which could effect him, and others, in the shorter term.
"I say, Josie, this indeed is positively scandalous. And here I thought to exaggerate earlier. I must confess to two immediate concerns with this, old fellow. Firstly, what are your intentions for the crew, should they have the appropriate sanguineous prerequisites?"
So, this was not going to be "day-to-day" talk, like Keystone had suggested. No, this Elisabeth got straight to the point. Caesar appreciated it, getting down to business. He had no desire to stay in this room any longer than he had to, not when so much else was on his plate. Keystone looked as if he were going to say something in response, other than a cursory greeting, so the older man waved him quiet and opened his end of the conversation. His voice was solid, but a little quieter than he generally preferred to speak. He was no less a presence in the room, but anyone who knew him could listen to him and know that something was very wrong.
"Thank you, Ms. Queensguard. I'm glad we could meet. I will follow your example and come right to it: MSS does not intend to pull out of our contract with you. Because of the protections on M'hi... on Alicia's systems and the fact that she had not linked a copy into the company Intranet, I can't access her work. Yet. I would appreciate it greatly if you could turn over a copy of your original contract, in untampered, read-only format in the meantime, as well as any relevant documentation until I can access her stuff."
"I intend to meet the needs of your company, provided we meet on the same business and ethical standings. As for our personnel - Mr. Keystone has taken over as Acting Director until I can find someone suitable to replace him. Afterwards, he will be offered Miss Dunn's position. I have someone in mind for Alicia's role, but I will not have an answer for at least a week, maybe two. In the meantime, I would like to review the papers you have given me with Keystone, ma'am."
He assumed a less formal stance in his chair, dropping some of the cultured mannerisms he had tried to effect thusfar into the conversation. "I've got to ask, Ms. Queensguard - if my history was part of the draw, what are you so worried about? Alicia was this company's future, I mostly just kept surviving and made people bleed. How well did you know her, anyway?"
The Lord Major raised an eyebrow, seeing that Vera had actually chosen to hide from him behind the very man he assumed was accosting her. Either this rugged and tallish miscreant was some manner of mind-controlling Swami (possibly instructed by one, he could not be certain), there was the most insidious blackmail afoot, or he had misjudged the situation.
He turned his face straight on, facing the Infamous Mr. Drake, and raised his other eyebrow. Both now fully elevated, Reginald's features took on an image of surprise. His entire demeanor changed into one of bubbly friendliness, indicated by rosy cheeks and a dashing, jovial smile. He slid his sabre back into its scabbard with somewhat less proficiency than it was drawn, and secured his Webley more tightly in its holster.
"Well met then, Mr. Drake! I am Lord Major Reginald I. Keystone, sir, of His Majesty's Royal Air Corps. Not to worry my good man, I shan't let the circumstances of your birth unduly mar my opinion of you." He extended his hand to the man, anticipating a return of the more formal greeting. "Even if you are a Yank."
"I fought alongside quite a few of you Americans with the Air Campaigns during the Great War, you see. Cheeky lot, you Colonials, but infinitely more tolerable than most. Between you and I, old boy, I've oft thought that some of our stodgier higher-ups in the Empire could use a bit of those "Cowboy Heroics" for which your people are so famous."
And he kept talking. Luckily, he was drawing to a close. "But I digress. Yes, the Lady Munn is correct. Damage to a site of historical significance, by misdeed or misadventure, is a detestable and unfortunate thing. I should hope for your sake, the local authorities don't make much note of it. In any case, I should very much like to borrow Lady Munn for a moment, to consult on her expertise."
Reginald hastily recovered one of his own business cards and fetched a pen from Vera's desk. While he was no artist, he had seen this image several times in the Midnight Theatre of his subconscious, and could skillfully reproduce it on paper. "It would be a ring, Lady. A gold ring. Has it any significance to you?"
Location: Building 1 (Courthouse, Office) -> Between Building 9 (School) and F (Tati & Jack's House) -> Gravesite, within Outer Wall
Bridgette chose to ignore the scene around her. She was a hardass by most people's reckoning, including her own, but she really didn't need the distraction of kids huddled together in what used to be a building dedicated to criminal justice, fearful of being shot at by persons unknown. This was just wrong. If she could secure the safety of her new clan by ripping the insides out of the abdomen of someone who deserved it and strangling them to death with their lower intestine, she wouldn't hesitate. Hell, she may even make some manner of pithy remark (that included liberal amounts of sarcasm the use of the word "fuck") in the process.
Set an enemy in front of her to destroy, Bridgette was in her element. Playing games with an entire town that meant them no harm, targeting children? Not her thing. And this was a lady descended of a culture of raiders and berserkers.
Over her time tutoring their Captain on boxing (or the more brutal, less structured version she used), she had come to get to know the man. He's the kind of guy that would shoot a man dead without hesitation if he thought he was a threat to people for which he was responsible. At the same time, Ash would extend help to the deserving and take in the downtrodden. He was no threat to Eden, and they must know that. If her guess was correct, Ash and Newnan were going to be a threat, and fairly soon.
Back to business. She located a free walkie and clipped it to her belt, near her big seax. It would suffice for now, though she was not a fan of having something brushing against the elbow on her shieldarm. Carefully, she rotated the ON switch, and checked in with the radio network while quickly returning to her horse. "Ash, it's Bree. Headed to get the kids first, going to bring the one to the gravesite. I'll check in when I'm back Inside."
Bridgette led Cadence back out of the Courthouse and fluidly mounted the charger. Hand still clutching her spear, the Nordic woman spurred her mount back to the general vicinity of the kids' soccer game from earlier. The little blonde girl's body still lay there, cold and unmoving. She was particularly grateful about that last part - unmoving. She slowed her horse to a walk and peered into windows nearby. Catching some movement, her voice broke the tense stillness of the streets.
"C'mon kids! Spotters have the Inner Wall clean. Doubletime your little asses to the Courthouse! I'll take care of stuff here. ...I'll take care of her..."
Slowly at first, children removed themselves from two nearby structures. Some craned their necks to try and catch a glimpse of their fallen friend, but Bridgette had positioned herself and Cadence between them. A disapproving glare or two later, and the younger Newnanites were on their way. "Straight to the Courthouse, damn it!" she called after them, then turned her attention to the walkie. "Schoolkids coming to the Courthouse. Head count's going to be short one."
Bridgette gathered up the body of the little blonde girl in a bit of nearby blue construction tarp and slung her across Cadence. With a forlorn expression, she led her horse over to the gate from which she entered earlier and gave a half-hearted wave to the gatekeeper. Once Cadence and herself were in the more open area outside the wall, she crossed over to the grassy patch they used to bury their dead. Zeroing in on the last hole dug (the one for the elder Lily), she located the shovel she had left, still in the pile of upturned earth next to the hole.
The very empty hole.
A sense of alarm crept into Bridgette. She carefully removed her newest addition to the site from Cadence and lay her slowly down on the ground nearby. She recovered her shotgun, dual wielding it with her prized spear, and set herself to look over the grounds. Just in case someone had moved her to dig the hole deeper or to leave a gift with the body, she didn't want to bring further discord if it was a non-issue. This time though, it was better to be safe than sorry. She knelt and set her spear down, easily accessible but with the freedom to utilize her radio.
"Um... Captain?" she began, eyes scanning her surroundings, "Lily's body is gone."
Black James!
Location: Building 1 (Courthouse Lobby, Tower)
James was glad to hear that the kids were okay. "Alls I counted was three. Four shots fired. One'um still out there, somewheres." He continued out of the Lobby, now determined to hit the Tower. As a word of encouragement, he called back to Niesha and Kris, "Don't you go a'worryin' about no Walkers, now. Those assholes wanted us to see them kill folks. Someone probably already got to it, didn't have a radio to tell nobody."
He really hoped so, anyway. Ash gave everyone orders to damage the brains of their dead over the walkies, but in truth he did have a concern about that, himself. All the better to get his ass up to the Tower and check things out. He took off at a jog, holding his monster of a sniper rifle in front of him. Up stairs, past the landing, and up more stairs climbed the overalled blackneck protagonist, his woodaxe hanging by his side occasionally making scraping connection with the guard rails of the various open paths leading upwards.
When he finally made it into the clocktower proper, James was greeted by the sight of yet another corpse. This one had, by the very nature of its initial demise, had his brain destroyed by a bullet. But the question still remained: Where was the shooter? James noted the angle the wound ran on the poor fellow. It was from across, and slightly upward. He took the dead man's rifle and leaned out of the open tower, as if he were taking position. Eyes sharp, he noted only one place that the bullet could have conceivably originated.
There was, just outside the Outer Wall, the Historic Coweta County Probate Court building. It rose somewhat higher than any other building around, with a large clock and open area, large enough for a few men with rifles to pick off small targets below. The strategic value of the location was not lost on anyone; point of fact there had been plans in the works to incorporate the structure and corresponding block of buildings around it into Newnan, but other matters had more importance. That, and without enough people to effectively guard the land they already had, expansion was a dangerous waste of resources. Musings aside, something seemed different about the building. He was sure that there was a shape up there, facing him, that hadn't been there previously.
James snatched the binoculars off of the dead man and set them to his own eyes, just as Bridgette's last message came through the walkie. His mouth lay agape as soon as his eyes could focus on what he was seeing outside of the Outer Wall.
Nailed to a wide board hung the naked corpse of the elderly Lily, hanging from the tower of the higher building. A spear lay embedded in her side, partially pinning her to the wood.
"Bossman? Done found Lily. Her body been crucified, sir. They got back into our home. Again."
Ash Holloway
Location: Parking Lot between Building 6 (Armory) and Building E (Apartments)
The excellent news that Ashton received about Zoie, and the mild elation that came with it, was swiftly knocked aside by every other radio transmission that had come through since. He paused for a moment, taking in the reports from his people. This was what the distraction was for? A distraction that involved the murder of four people, to hijack the interring of a corpse and use it as a grotesque display of intimidation? What did that even accomplish for them?
Surely by now, the people of Eden must know that they were taking in survivors, allowing them equal access to what they had built in Newnan. Some of them were given positions of authority among their settlement, a thing pretty much unheard of in this day and age. It couldn't be extortion, either. They hadn't sent any word of giving them supplies in exchange for not attacking, and they hadn't stolen anything from the community either time they breached their walls. Also by this time, they had to know that Newnan was not a hostile settlement, and had no desire to conquer anyone. It made zero sense, from a conventional standpoint.
Then again, Ash was an Army man. Spent a lot of time in various hostile places in the world, and witnessed the actions of zealots. They didn't need a reason, except to prove their own superiority to their people and make others fear them. What was more, they hid their own moral and ethical shortcomings behind a cloak of divine right, as if a deity suddenly appeared and gave them a huge list of exceptions and loopholes to their original philosophies. That being the case, all they wanted to do was hurt anyone that might disagree with them, and subjugate any who claimed to agree.
If that were true, Ash had to make sure that a good number of people died. Probably not all of them; there might be an unseen number that were caught in their grasp and needed help. To be honest though, if it came down to it, Ash would order the deaths of every living soul in Eden if it meant keeping one of his safe.
Lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. It came from the courthouse, and flitted from building to shady spot on a course toward the Wall. It was a man, and moving more or less in his direction. He also noticed children just up the road, looking scared and helping each other go in the direction of the Main Building. They were unattended; likely the ones Bridgette shooed out of their hiding spots. It looked very much like the children and this mystery man were going to be within eyesight of each other very soon.
Ash crept, low and quiet, to intercept the unwanted guest. His Detonix .45 was drawn, though he didn't want to have to use it unless it was absolutely necessary. He moved to peer around the corner of the building nearest himself, and caught full sight of the man who had just recently traded away stealth for speed. It was their Edenite guest, Ryan O'Reily. A firm set took hold in his jaw, and Ash stepped around the corner just in time to shove his gun into the face of the approaching Ryan.
He motioned for the man to drop to his knees and stay silent, while stepping back a pace. In the event that this unwelcome houseguest had any tricks up his sleeve, Ash was determined to maintain distance needed to put a round in his eye before anything else could happen. Ryan complied, surprisingly without opposing action nor argument. Ashton waited until the children had passed by. They hadn't noticed the pair of them, off to the side. As the sound of their feet hitting blacktop pattered past them, a sort of whispering voice started in Ash's mind.
Kill him kill him kill him fucking kill him he's one of them be safe not sorry kill him and let it be done.
Ash squinted his eyes and turned his head slightly. While he remained focused on his quarry, it was evident that he was trying to ignore something that was nagging at him, like a headache or someone giving incessant, poorly planned advice. When the sound of the last one abated, Ash began to speak in an eerily calm, low voice.
"I had thought about what to do with you, Ryan. Thought a lot. One thing that came to mind, in case you started trouble anyway, was to bury you in a box. Run a pipe for air, of course. Maybe piss down it so you won't die of thirst, first few days. I could shoot you now, if you'd prefer, but I'll tell you, .45 ammunition is a finite resource anymore. I like the box idea."
"Or you could make yourself useful."
The Great Bazhooli
Location: Building 2 (Mess Hall)
"Police and Construction Foremans... And circus performer. Ve are like first half of joke, da?" began the enigmatic Great Bazhooli, trying like hell to be cordial. This was a massively tense situation, him being in a new place with unfamiliar people, disarmed and almost helpless. He flashed a warm, genuine-seeming smile to the people around him, which was suddenly interrupted by she sound of Tatiana screaming like a dead guy was looking up her skirt. He quickly snapped his head around and reflexively moved his hands down to his belt before he caught himself, noticing the small grey rodent milling about on the floor. Then his genuine-seeming smile became an actually genuine one. He had to force himself not to chuckle.
Instead, he continued his conversation with the other two, even as he moved closer to where the offending mouse was seen last, stooping for a better angle under things. "I vas on train, circus train, vhen all this began. Heard stories on news, thought most vas bolshevik. The day it got really very bad, I vas on train for two days. Did not know until ve try to stop for refuel. Army of Returned try to eat us. I say, 'Ve get gas, next town', but... here ve are."
The Great Bazhooli spotted the little grey mouse, which easily evaded the moves of the big-armed Cossack. "Chert voz'mi!"1
1 = Damn it!
Schrödinger
Location: Building 2 (Mess Hall)
From out of nowhere, a low, orange blur tore across the open area of the Mess Hall. It veered this way and that, never slowing, never stopping, unerringly pursuing whatever struck its mind as a thing to pursue. It skidded underneath tables, between chairs, pausing only long enough to use The Great Bazhooli's leg as a springboard to assist in a sudden direction change. In that fraction of a second, people nearby were greeted with the sight of a fuzzy orange tomcat with amber-green eyes, a look of feline joy (if such a things were possible) mixed with missionlike determination. This was a cat set to accomplish something.
The ginger kitty slid under a table that was pushed up against a wall, where the adorable sounds of a tiny struggle was heard. A half minute later, the Orange Avenger emerged from under the table victorious, dead mouse held triumphantly in his mouth. He walked slowly up to the previously screaming woman and dropped the stilled rodent in front of her, looking up expectantly.
The miniature predator sat on his haunches and made his eyes appear very wide. He continued to look up at the frightened lady, squeaking out a slightly warbling, "Meow?"1
1 = I have defeated the great beast that has plagued you so, and request physical attention in return. (roughly)
Location: Woods North of Salarn, Orc Encampment, Cave
Interacting With: The Group
Leaving someone behind wasn't exactly optimal. More than that, it screamed of ulterior motive. The Orcs seemed to be dealing fairly, but this... Keystone simply didn't see how this helped anyone, sending their group back one warrior light. If indeed there were bony dead people about under the command of a dark cowled miscreant with the power to do so, leaving a single teammate behind could tip the scales unfavorably. One soldier more or less wouldn't make a bit of difference for the Orcs, with their defensible position and vastly superior numbers. The caveat to leave someone behind was extortion, pure and simple.
He supposed that, given the circumstances, they could just be chopped into steaks and fed to the footsoldiers, their fat melted off to grease the axles of the carts in which their bones would be carried away for fashioning into tool handles and trophies. A little shakedown from the locals wasn't so bad in comparison. Far be it for Keystone to limit his options, though. That could still happen. The evening was young, yet.
Suffice it to say, he wasn't in the best of moods when he returned to the campsite, outside of the cave. Keystone was careful to maintain his stoic, granite exterior (the same one he demonstrated on the way in) until settling back into his group. When he was in the relative security of the circle of his acquaintances, he let out a deep sigh and squeezed his eyes tight, as if warding off a headache.
"Right then, we're tops for the night 'ere, but we've got points what need some addressin' fore dawn. Best talk on a full stomach. I promised you lot a big, hot meal. Take me a bit, promise it'll be worth waitin' on."
Keystone looked upon the rabbit carcass in front of one of their number, the Half-Orc with questionable grasp over the Common tongue of the realm. Glancing around to the obviously hungry faces of other members of the group, he said with a touch of disgust in his voice, "But I see some of us just couldn't bear the wait."
The large man was not a person of classic, mannered upbringing. Until recent years, the more polite uses of a fork escaped him. Then there was that matter of having to learn to eat with sticks... but it was immaterial to the subject at hand. Even a man lacking in manners, such as himself, had the basic morality not to prepare a meal in front of hungry folk and have them watch while he ate it. "Really? Sodding really?" he asked aloud, looking very much like he didn't wish to hear an answer to his query. The very real question of how the animal could have been skinned, cooked, and eaten in the time it took them to get dome with their introductions with the Chief came to mind. They must have been in that cave for longer than he had reckoned.
His mood brightened, at least incrementally, when he looked upon the bounty that Sana brought back from the forest. Keystone shook his head, trying to move his mind away from the rabbit and on to what he would be preparing, courtesy of the efforts of his old adventuring partner. It looked like she slaughtered an entire damned watering hole of small woodland mammals, including foxes for some reason. Now, Keystone had never prepared fox; at least not on purpose. There was a long story behind that incident, one into which he absolutely refused his mind to wander. No, bigger things at hand. Nevertheless, he shuddered involuntarily. So much blood. So many doilies. The stench was great.
Pulling to together the fracturing pieces of his psyche after nearly mentally delving into the Infernoing Fox Incident, he took to note the root vegetables that had been revealed. "Oi! What's all this, Sana? Bloody 'ell woman, are those Baigies and Neeps? Aw, and with greens still 'ttached, they are. If I wasn't stone-cocked certain it'd lead to a fistfight, I could bloody well hug you."
Keystone brought out the entirety of his culinary tools, downstacking and locating the proper pieces for what would amount to a proper feast, in comparison to what they had been eating the past few days. "...'k, then. Here's what's what: I'm roasting off the birdies in the big, iron pan. Rabbits can be stewed off with the greens, the foxes, um... well, let's break it down and cook 'em off slow. Mayhap have somethin' set for breakys tomorrow, with oaty scones, yeah? Now, I'd be obliged if'n some of you lot what's handy with a short blade'd give me an assist. This is a fair collection of meat to run through, and suppertime's gettin' on. I'll start on the fowl and rooties; just need the beasts charcuter'ed, if you would, then."
The uncouth culinarian did reach for one item from his pack. It was a bit of whole bacon, which he diced up and threw into two pots and his great iron pan before resting them in the coals of the fire. He immediately began cutting down the vegetables, becoming just slightly optimistic in outward appearance. "Those o' you ain't already partaked heavy today'll be lovin' this 'fore long. Just what we need - good food an' wiseful talk." Behind quiet eyes, Keystone already had in mind a candidate for the group's bartering piece.
As he set to preparing what promised to be a excellent repast, a repetitive humming sounded softly from his lips. It continued for a bit, until one could barely hear the large man singing a childhood tune, "...baigies an' neeps, baigies and' neeps, I'm a lit'le lad who loves Baigies ...and Ne-ee-eeps..."
Harper did a remarkable job releasing a slow sigh of relief, blessedly unnoticed. He pace remained steady, regardless of his desire to move with much greater speed. Given the circumstances of his assignment (the pilot of a Black Ship headed toward the Rim, outfitted with a skeleton crew dotted with a sociopath or three), he wondered if he was safer back in prison. This was very much not what he had in mind when he aspired to freedom. But at least the food was better.
All the same, turning one's back on a blue-gloved Agent wasn't the prescribed behavior of a man in his situation. His actual situation, anyway. It might be the prescribed behavior of someone unconcerned with getting a slug to the back, and/or someone genuinely insulted by said Agent nonchalantly bringing up red marks in their fitrep. No, everything was a gamble, nowadays, and would remain so until he could quietly rejoin society somewhere that didn't care about his history. Get through it one day at a time.
On the up side, now that he was back on the Upper Level, he could definitely catch the aroma of coffee. It was to the rear of the vessel, past crew quarters. Harper shook out the stress of the previous moment, and strode thoughtfully toward the source. Down the corridor, far back, almost to Upper Engineering. The newly assigned Flight Officer was familiar with this vessel type - this area was supposed to be a Recovery Ward and some manner of Medical Office. Instead, when he entered the room that hosted the emanations of roasted heaven, he was surprised to slap retinas upon...
[hider=Lady Absinthia's GM Awards]
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[*] Save Another from LLA Card
[*] Kill Any NPC in LAU Card
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[*] Single Day Extension Card
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[/list]
[/hider]
[hider=Death Scenes]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3622266]Dexter's Death (or Hammertime!)[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3837944]The UnBEARable Case of Lawrence Long[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4020657]Malfunctioning Space Toilet[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4557122]Rube Goldberg Decapitation[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4569229]Shitter's Full[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4602115]Dirigible (warning, SAD)[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4538295]After "The Last Barbecue"[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4723699]Detoxing Pilot[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4745239]Girls Stick Together[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4749807]Oops[/url]
[/hider]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3214659]"Character Flaw"[/url]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/2968914]Keystone's Daydream[/url]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3040161]Checking for Mental Intrusion[/url]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3594115]The Power Of Pain Compels You[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4670484]The Greater Good[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5134610]Burial & Origin of James Mandingo Grady[/url]
[hider=Signature Images]
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[/hider]
[center][img]https://image.ibb.co/jVrOhp/Scythefalling.gif[/img][/center]
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Lady Absinthia's GM Awards">Lady Absinthia's GM Awards [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><ul class="bb-list" style="white-space: normal;"><li></li><li>Save Another from LLA Card</li><li>Kill Any NPC in LAU Card</li><li>Plot Insight Card</li><li>Single Day Extension Card</li><li>Single Day Extension Card</li><li></li></ul></div></div><br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Death Scenes">Death Scenes [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3622266">Dexter's Death (or Hammertime!)</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3837944">The UnBEARable Case of Lawrence Long</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4020657">Malfunctioning Space Toilet</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4557122">Rube Goldberg Decapitation</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4569229">Shitter's Full</a><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4602115">Dirigible (warning, SAD)</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4538295">After "The Last Barbecue"</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4723699">Detoxing Pilot</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4745239">Girls Stick Together</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4749807">Oops</a></div></div><br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3214659">"Character Flaw"</a><br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/2968914">Keystone's Daydream</a><br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3040161">Checking for Mental Intrusion</a> <br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3594115">The Power Of Pain Compels You</a><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4670484">The Greater Good</a><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5134610">Burial & Origin of James Mandingo Grady</a><br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Signature Images">Signature Images [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://media.giphy.com/media/xT0GqpswuzhOqHP6gM/giphy-downsized-large.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://media.giphy.com/media/iMnyx7HWjZgPu/giphy.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/wUTjLTf.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-K04tQV9pRE8/UCFQiE8aoVI/AAAAAAAATJk/hIK7mzvvYpk/s430/99.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/rigeWJc.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://uproxx.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/throughthedoor.gif?w=650" /></div></div></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://image.ibb.co/jVrOhp/Scythefalling.gif" /></div></div>
Zman
Shadow Dragon
Not a Sayan
Simply Not Real
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Arty Fox
Lady Absinthia
Archangel89
